Quake in Sunnyland
by drewbug
Summary: Mostly a PWP, with a thinly constructed plot in order to Torture Spike. (And, with any luck, to inspire others to do the same.)


TITLE: Quake in Sunnyland

AUTHOR: Nicole Clevenger (c)2000

RATING: PG. Hurt/Comfort, Tara/Willow, Spike/Dru

SUMMARY: Mostly a PWP, with a thinly constructed plot in order to Torture Spike

SPOILERS: Somewhere around "Doomed" but before "This Year's Girl" -- Which basically translates into some minor references up to and including Season 4

DISCLAIMER: The usual. Joss, I bow before you in my humble attempt to mess with your creations. Please, feel free to take them back and do it better. Until then, I'll just be with them over here...

FEEDBACK: Love it, hate it... Let me know that people actually read this stuff.

DISTRIBUTION: Really? You like it that much? Take it... just make sure that all this good info stays attached, and let me know. Thanks.

QUAKE IN SUNNYLAND

Nicole Clevenger

He was coming out of the bar when they jumped him from behind. It occurred to him that he might have sensed them had he not pushed on with that last drink, but there was no time for such regrets now. He pushed one off him and got to his feet, spinning around to face them in one fluid motion. Or an _intended to be fluid motion. Still, he held on to his balance and tried to get as much of a solid fighting stance as he could as they came at him again._

Three of them, and his reflexes a bit slow. Still, he was not planning on losing this fight, no matter how it seemed to be stacked against him. He ducked a moving blow to his head, catching the arm as it sailed by and using the leverage to flip the opponent over. The demon fell to the ground, but didn't look like it was planning on staying down there long. He turned back just as another ran at him. They went down together, squirming and flailing on the hard pavement. There was a definite feeling of pleasure as his fist connected solidly with his attacker's head. It was short lived, however, as his fist was caught and held in the midst of another swing. 

The pressure on his hand increased, crushing the bones together in his fist. The demon that had landed on him was now on its knees, sitting on his legs and using his stomach for a punching bag. Instinctively he tried to curl away from the punishment, but the weight on his legs wouldn't let him move. He wondered distantly why it was never like the fight scenes in movies -- the ones where the group of bad guys come at you one at a time, taking turns. At least the third one didn't seem interested in the fight, he noticed blearily - instead seemingly content to stand above and laugh.

Abruptly the laughter cut short with a sharp intake of breath. He hoped the bastard was choking to death on his own saliva. The boxer stopped punching long enough to glance over his shoulder, a split second before he too was pulled backwards into the shadows. The demon crunching the bones in his hand apparently decided that whatever it was he saw happening to his comrades was not for him, dropping the fist and disappearing at a run in the other direction.

He rolled in on himself, fire burning through his abdomen. God he was getting tired of this. 

"Come on, Spike…" An all-too-familiar voice cut through the fog of pain. "You know you don't have to go out looking if you want a good beating. I'd be more than happy to give it to you myself if you'd just ask."

"Funny, Slayer," was all he managed as he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. At the moment, he couldn't decide if it would have been better to be beaten to a pulp than to have been saved by this girl. Probably better. Yes.

She grabbed his arm without warning, pulling him to his feet without even the merest hint of effort. "You're lucky I was in the neighborhood," she informed him with a smirk.

"Oh, yes," he said dryly. "I'm just counting my bless --"

His sentence was cut short as he saw-- over Buffy's shoulder -- one of the demons lunge at her back. He shoved her to the ground, ignoring the surprised protest. He wanted a piece of this one himself.

Spike threw himself at the demon, knocking them both to the ground again. Except this time, he was the one on top. He punched the demon in the face, ignoring the flare of pain through his hand. Again, again, again… Under him, the demon flailed, trying to get ahold of him. One long nail sliced through his arm, and he hissed in pain. Instead of it weakening him, however, he was reenergized. He felt his face shift into the comfortable features of his own demon, and he relished the freedom. 

He continued to throw punches even after he heard several cracks of bone, even after the demon had fallen unconscious, enjoying the impact of flesh against scaly flesh. He might not be able to take out humans at the moment, but he'd be damned if word was going to get out that he'd gone soft. Besides, this was his only outlet now. And he still enjoyed it, whether it was human or demon under his fist.

"Okay, I think you made your point."

Her voice cut through his bloody haze, pulling him back to the dark alley behind the dirty bar. Without responding, he snapped the demon's neck, standing up as it disintegrated in death. A satisfied smile crossed his lips as he turned to face her.

"You're lucky I was in the neighborhood," he said, throwing her words back at her.

She shrugged. "Yeah, well… I'm not the one who looks about to keel over here."

Her words called all of his injuries to attention, each one screaming louder than the others. It was true that vampires healed exceptionally fast. But it was also true that he was going to be in a lot of hurt until he did.

Aside from his bruised and aching stomach and the most-likely-broken hand, he had a deep gash running down the length of his left arm. Ripped the fabric of the sleeve almost in half, he noticed with a curse. Bloody bastard. His friend had better hope that the two of them never crossed paths again.

Then someone tipped the alley on its side, and Spike found himself back on the ground. Totally bewildered, he looked up at Buffy to see her holding a hand down to him. He ignored it and managed to get half-way up before ending up on the ground again. The Slayer sighed in obvious irritation.

"Come on, Spike. I've got things to do, evil to fight… Either let me help you somewhere safe, or I'll leave you here to hope you can recover by sunrise."

Reluctantly, he took the offered hand and let her pull him to his feet. He had intended to leave her as soon as he was standing, but his legs seemed to have other plans. With another sigh, Buffy pulled his uninjured arm over her shoulders.

"Stop pretending you're all American Gladiator and come on."

"You stop first," he grumbled at her.

Either she didn't hear or simply chose not to respond as they moved down the street. The walk to Xander's house seemed longer than it should have been, but by the time they arrived Spike was feeling better. Well, if not _better, exactly, than at least steady enough to pull away from Buffy and stumble in under his own power. The effort cost him though -- as soon as he made it into the basement he collapsed into the nearest chair in exhaustion._

"Aw, come on, Buff… He's gonna bleed on my favorite chair," came a whine from across the room.

Spike cracked one eye to see Xander watching him pensively, as if he might explode into a disgusting mess at any moment. "You can tell Martha bloody Stewart over there that I'll be leaving in a minute."

Anya, who had been hanging on Xander's arm, laughed at that. Xander pulled away from her, the scowl on his face making it clear that he did not find the humor in the situation. She grabbed his arm again, pouting. "You are being sort of rude, Xander. I mean, he _is hurt… Besides," she added brightly, "most of the blood is being soaked up by his clothes anyway."_

Xander's groan mirrored Spike's own. The vampire closed his eyes again, gathering his strength while the teenagers fought things out. As soon as he could stand again, he was leaving. Not about to put up with this any longer than he had to, all he wanted was to find a nice quiet crypt to hole up in until his body healed itself. 

Quiet being -- at the moment -- the most important word in that sentence.

"Fine," Buffy was saying, "Then you drag him over to Giles'. I'll be over in a couple of hours, after I finish patrolling."

Feeling a little guilty, Xander changed his tone. "No, I guess I can keep him here for a while… He's gonna heal fast, right?"

"Want to thank you all _so very much for the concern," Spike muttered._

Again he was ignored. "Actually, I do want you to take him over there," Buffy told Xander. "He got a better look than I did at those demons we just met, and you know Giles is going to want details. They weren't any of the usual neighborhood bullies, as far as I could tell."

Anya sat on the arm of Spike's chair, causing him to open his eyes and glare at her. She didn't see it, busy as she was directing her own glare at Buffy. "Does this mean we have to spend another night going through dusty books?" She turned to Xander, cooing, "You promised we'd be alone tonight. We were going to try that new --"

Xander was across the room in a flash, a hand on her arm to stop her from going any further. "Buffy needs us, Anya. We can always do… ahem… _that tomorrow night. Okay?"_

She folded her arms across her chest, obviously displeased. "But whenever we have to help Giles, I get so bored."

"Vengeance Girl has a point there," Spike threw in.

Anya smiled and nodded to him, happy to have someone on her side.

Buffy moved toward the door. "I'll be there by, say, midnight, okay?" Her tone, though light, suggested no further room for argument. "Thanks," she called, on her way out.

The three sat in silence for a moment after she had gone. It was Xander who finally spoke first. "Well, you heard the Buffster… I guess we might as well go now."

Anya got up, grabbing a coat from off the nearby bed. "Maybe Giles will have food? I'm starved."

Xander stopped and looked at her. "How long have you been around? Haven't you learned by now that Giles _never has food? Unless you count some of that English stuff food… Which I don't, by the way."_

"Maybe Buffy will bring us something on her way back?"

"Buffy? Half the time she doesn't even remember to feed herself. Come on. We'll stop on the way."

Spike pushed himself to his feet, trying to convince himself that he was okay. His body was firmly convinced otherwise, however, and he held on to the back of the chair for a moment before straightening. He'd been through worse. He was fine. No problem. Still, the combination of the annoying teenage voices babbling incessantly in his ear and the fact that he _hated being hurt was getting to him. "I don't know why you poofs let her boss you around like she does," he mumbled, just loud enough that the other two in the room were sure to hear._

"Hey, it's your fault we're spending the night studying. Maybe next time you'll let a _familiar species of demon beat you up, huh?"_

~~~~~

After twenty minutes of driving around to various fast-food restaurants until Anya made up her mind, the trio reached their destination. The surprise on Giles face rapidly shifted to concern when he opened his door to them.

"Has something happened? Where is Buffy? Willow?"

Xander waved off the concern as they moved inside. "Everybody's okay."

"Yeah, Spike just got the crap beat out of him," Anya chimed in helpfully, following her boyfriend to the couch. "Want something to eat?" she asked, offering the white paper bag to him.

"No… no thank you," Giles stammered, still looking vaguely confused. He turned to Spike, who was still standing in the doorway, holding his left arm. "You were… injured?"

Spike shrugged, not moving. Truth was, he wasn't entirely sure his legs would move him all the way over to the nearest chair. What was wrong with him? It wasn't like he was hurt that badly… "Got hit a few times."

"Did you see what it was?" Giles asked, adjusting his glasses as he looked Spike over.

The vampire resisted the urge to fidget. Why couldn't these people just let him alone? Or stake him and put him out of his misery?

Xander, always one to butt into a conversation, summed things up. "He saw but Buffy didn't, so she wanted us to get on it until she's done patrolling. Then she's coming over here too. Par-tay."

"Thank you, Xander," Giles said over his shoulder, already moving to a stack of books on the coffee table. "I was just looking through these when you rang, so I suppose this would be as good of a place to start as any." He sat in one of the two chairs across from the couch. Spike still had not moved, and Giles turned to him, looking over the high back of the chair. "Perhaps you would, uh, care to join us over here? Where you can see the illustrations?"

"After story time, do we get milk and cookies?" Xander quipped.

Giles appeared to have missed the reference. "I don't believe I have any milk and cookies…"

Xander nudged Anya, a "See-I-told-you-so" look on his face.

Spike moved carefully over to the empty chair. The room had an troublesome way of shifting in and out of focus every few seconds or so, but he was determined not to let any of the humans know that. He certainly wasn't short on human pity these days. Either that, or they'd just laugh at him or something. No thank you. He was fine.

Gratefully, Spike slumped into the chair. Giles was watching him, but the ex-librarian didn't comment. Instead he adjusted his glasses again and opened the large book on the top of the stack.

"Yes, well… Could you describe these demons for me? Appearance, behavior, scent? Anything you can remember."

"Scaly."

"Scaly?"

"Scaly."

"And, once again, it is the almost magical art of close observation which saves us all,"Xander piped up. Anya didn't even look up from the pile of fries she was devouring.

Giles gave Xander a look, but turned back to Spike. "Can you, ah, recall anything else?"

"It was dark. They came at me from behind. I was tryin' to save my own arse, not taking mental snapshots."

"And you couldn't even do that." Anya. Spike shot her a dirty look, but her attention had already refocused on the fries.

Giles hurried forward, hoping to stop the looming fight before it broke out. "Anything else at all, Spike? I'm afraid this really isn't much to go on…"

"Look, I don't really care _who they were. This was all the Slayer's idea. Me, I'd rather just see if they show up again and, if they do, finish them off."_

"It is important for us to be prepared, in case --"

"In case what?" the vampire asked, pushing himself to his feet. "In case they're part of some kind of bleedin' invading army? Doubt it, mate. They were just three drunk demons who had a grudge against me. Not like that's anything unusual these days."

"Can't imagine why," Xander muttered.

Spike wheeled around to face him, almost losing his balance. He recovered almost immediately, and no one in the room seemed to notice. "Listen Suzy Sunshine, I'm having enough problems because of your little Scooby Gang here. I don't really feel like dealing with you too."

Xander's eyes grew exaggeratedly large. "Ooooh, what are you gonna do, Spike? B-b-b-bite me?"

Faster than anyone could react, Spike was on Xander, pinning him to the couch. His teeth ground together in pain as the implant did its work, but he still managed to force out through a clenched jaw, "No, but I know a few people who will."

This time the fear in the teenager's eyes was real. Unable to take anymore of the intense pain in his head, Spike pulled himself off of Xander, stumbling. He got his feet under him, and made his way to the door. His hand on the knob, he turned back and looked at the group. None of them had moved, and that gave him a bit of satisfaction. 

"Tell the Slayer that it's been fun, but I couldn't stay for her little study session." With that, he left the house and headed slowly toward the graveyard.

~~~

Spike awoke in an unfamiliar crypt, with an unfamiliar skeleton beside him. Ever since The Initiative ransacked the last place he'd been staying, he decided to forgo the settled life for a while. For the time being, he was changing resting places every night, just to be sure and stay a step ahead of the boys in black. He was already getting sick of this lack of creature comforts, this skulking from tomb to tomb like some mindless zombie who'd be just as happy to sleep on the wet dirt outside as anywhere else. But, dammit, he _wasn't happy like this. He wanted a home, like it used to be with Dru. Some place with a bed. And a TV._

On the other hand, he felt much better than he had the night before. His arm was a bit sore, but, other than that, everything had healed itself up quite nicely. Just one of those perks of the undead life.

It was just after sunset, and he decided to go out looking for a victim, even though he wasn't all that hungry. Since he couldn't feed on humans at the moment, it sometimes took a bit longer to find food. Sure, Sunnydale had demons galore, but it took a bit more to rustle them out some days. And not all of them were edible. Or that tasty. So he'd learned it was usually a good idea to start looking early.

When he stepped outside, the first thing he noticed was the silence. It was as if every living creature was holding its breath. Even the air was still, waiting. He sniffed the air, tasting something on it that nagged the edges of his memory. He had experience this before. This eerie quiet. But when?

He made his way to the edge of the graveyard. Cars passed by as usual; human activity continued on as if nothing was amiss. He took another deep breath of night air. Still there. 

Something was coming.

Somewhere down the block, a dog howled twice, then dissolved into pitiful whining. He heard the owner yell for it to shut up, but the dog continued on. A rustle in the bushes beside him made him turn, defenses on hyper-alert. A yellow tabby scurried out, took one look at Spike and scrambled across the street, barely missing getting hit by an oncoming car.

The animals knew. What was it he was forgetting? Where had this happened before?

Then it came to him: Lisbon, 1755. The big earthquake. Around 8.7, if he remembered correctly…

As if it had been holding back just waiting for him to remember, the ground began to shake. Spike was thrown to the pavement, his shoulder hitting the curb. Sliver cracks split the street; one of the old trees at the far edge of the graveyard toppled over. The air was filled with crashes and shouts and alarms, the panic almost visible. The houses across the street tried to shake themselves apart, shedding shingles, décor, entire sections. Glass shattered in the windows. People staggered out into their yards, clutching to each other and trying to stay on their feet. 

And then it was over. Spike debated staying where he was and waiting for the first aftershock. The people he could see were staring blankly at their homes, their cars, their street. The sounds of sirens were already cutting through the night air.

The sirens made him think. Natural disaster equals destruction. Destruction equals injury and death… Would his implant allow him to feed on a seriously injured human? He could attack demons, but why? Because they were dead? Maybe, if the victim was close enough to death, the implant wouldn't distinguish between the two?

Not too likely, he figured. But the idea was in his head now, and it wasn't going away any time soon. The thought of warm human blood made his head spin. He stayed sitting until the dizziness faded, then pushed himself to his feet. In his excitement, he had forgotten about the aftershocks. Until the first one hit and he was back on the ground.

Cursing under his breath, Spike got to his feet again. Enough wasted time. He was getting hungry, and his best chance at this was to get out there before all the helpless waiting victims were rescued.

He wandered through the suburban streets, enjoying the chaos. People were running around frantically, screaming and crying as if the world were about to end. At the end of the block he was on, flames lit the sky. The area looked like a war zone, which -- for Sunnydale -- was saying a lot. No one took any notice of him as he passed, too wrapped up as they were in their own catastrophes. A woman rushed past him, holding a bundle which could have been a child. She was yelling for help, clutching the armload to her chest.

The smell of blood was thick in the air. He continued walking, the waiting making it all the more tantalizing. If he ran the world, it would be pretty close to this, Spike decided.

Another aftershock hit, but he managed to stay upright this time. There was a loud thud behind him, and he turned to see that another large tree had fallen down. Better start paying a bit more attention then. Wouldn't do to end up under one of those things.

Spike turned a corner and found himself standing almost on the lip of a sink hole. He'd heard about these before, but never seen them. An entire house had fallen into the hole in the ground, with the one next door half on top of it. The one on top was split almost in two, broken where the foundation had given way to gravity as half of the structure slid off this veritable cliff. The roof had caved in, and…

And why did it look so bloody familiar?

He knew this street. He'd been here… to that house? 

No. It couldn't be.

Of all the twisted luck in the world… 

Spike followed his steps back to the corner and looked at the street sign. It was. Of course. Her street. Her house.

He groaned. "Slayer."

Why could he not get away from this girl? What made her so different from the two of her kind he'd killed in the past? Why were their lives linked like this? It was almost as if there was some outside force, constantly directing them together. Like they were acting out a script or something.

He was standing in front of the house again. Was she in there, he wondered? Maybe hurt? Probably not, since the impression he got was that most of her time these days was split between her college campus and that commando boyfriend she had. Of course, he certainly didn't follow her around everywhere, so he didn't really know. She could be in there. Hurt. Lying unconscious on the floor, dark red blood flowing from a gash on her pretty blond head…

Okay, he had to stop. His head was spinning again, and he paused against the crooked first step of the porch until it faded. What was this all about? He was acting like a fledgling going for his first kill. He needed to calm down. 

Once the vertigo had passed, Spike continued up the few stairs to the porch. There was a large crack through the wood, and the boards shifted under his weight, unsure if they wanted to hold him. In fact, the entire area was incredibly unstable. Another aftershock and he could be underground himself.

But he wanted to see if the Slayer was inside. Besides which, he'd always kind of liked Joyce Summers. Even after the time she hit him over the head with an axe. She was only protecting her kin and all; he could understand that. That time he came back to town, all annoying and weepy over losing Dru -- she listened to him. And gave him hot chocolate. Nice woman. Too bad her kid turned out the way she did.

So he'd find Joyce. Make sure she was alright. And, if the Slayer was in there, wounded… Well, that would just be his reward for being a good Samaritan. Like those missionary people everyone was always going on about. 

The hardest part was going to be getting in. The part that hadn't tried to go underground had instead almost collapsed in on itself. The front windows and doors were compacted, and a quick check showed that the other entrances were about the same. Maybe, if he could just get that door out of there…

"Get out of my way," demanded the voice, before it knocked him over.

There she was, frantically pulling at the doorknob with all of her preternatural strength. A bit disheveled, yes, but unfortunately all in one piece. Spike mourned his lack of any kind of good luck. 

"I was going to do that, before you removed me from the game," he said, referring to her attempts at the door.

Buffy turned to look at him, her expression implying that she hadn't realized he was even there. She looked confused. "What are you doing here?" she snarled,returning immediately to the task at hand.

Before he could answer, they were both thrown to the ground by another aftershock. There was a crack as the boards beneath them gave way just a little more, and they both slid to the other end of the porch, toward the hole. Spike managed to stop himself just before the edge, using every bit of tread on the heels of his boots. Buffy went over, but caught herself on what had become the rim of the porch. She hung there, by one hand, panting hard.

Spike reached a hand down to her, and she used that to pull herself back up. He flinched at the pain that streaked through his injured arm, but said nothing. Once back on semi-solid ground, she didn't even pause for breath. The minute she was on her feet, she was back at the door again.

He got up and moved to help her, holding back a remark about her lack of gratitude. With the desperate energy he could feel coming off of her, he figured that her first response might very well be to stake him with a piece of the white porch floor and be done with it.

And he could smell gas. That last little quake must have broken another gas line, this one right near them. Any minute this whole block could go up in flames. He said as much to her.

"I know. Which is why we're going to get this door off _now." She threw herself at the wood, shoulder first. "My mother is in there." slam "And if you don't help me save her slam I'm going to hand you over to slam the Initiative so they can slam study you for the rest of time." slam_

He had no doubt that she'd do it. And the thought of being trapped in that white cage again was more than enough incentive to get Joyce out of there. As if that wasn't what he'd been planning on in the first place. Why did he never get any credit? Just went to show you that doing the "right thing" really wasn't all it was played up to be.

"Mom!" Buffy was shouting. "Mom, can you hear me?"

No answer. 

She moved into position to throw herself at the door again, but Spike held her back. The look on her face was barely restrained fury, until she realized that he was just stopping her so that they could try hitting it together. 

Still no effect. He could smell the fear on her as she called for her mother again. They hit the door again, and this time it cracked just a little. Encouraged, they did it again. On the third try, it split through the middle, and Spike was able to rip it apart enough so that they could both climb through the splintered center.

The smell of gas was even stronger inside. Buffy ran upstairs, avoiding broken steps and shouting for her mother with every breath. Spike stayed where he was, wanting to be close to the exit in case the place suddenly went up in flames. He had no intention of burning to death, inside this house or any other. His "good Samaritan" sense only stuck around so long as he wasn't in any personal danger.

His arm was throbbing now, even though it hadn't been the one he'd used as a battering ram. The inside of the house looked just as bad as the outside. Furniture thrown around the room, the floor littered with pieces of broken possessions. He could hear Buffy's footsteps upstairs, and hoped that the floor up there didn't collapse to send her down on him. 

It's raining Slayers. Hallelujah.

A soft moan caught his attention. From the other room, he decided. As carefully as he could, Spike made his way to the living room, just off from where he was standing. A rug tried to trip him, and he righted himself only at the last moment.

Joyce Summers was lying on the floor, just under the wooden coffee table. There was glass all around her, which had come from a big mirror over the mantle. Or so he assumed, since there was now a large empty space where something used to hang. That, and the splintered frame on the floor was a pretty good clue. She moaned again, and shifted slightly, beginning to awaken. Spike moved over to her, glass shards crunching into the carpet beneath his boots. He squatted beside her just as she opened her eyes.

His face seemed to be the first thing her eyes actually focused on. She blinked hard, looking confused, then glanced around her. The motion was too much for her aching head, and she groaned, bringing a shaky hand up to touch the dark bruise on her forehead.

"You might not want to move around just yet. There's glass everywhere."

"Spike?" she asked softly, as if she wasn't quite sure it was him. "What happened? Is Buffy here?"

"I'm right here, Mom."

Without even an acknowledgement, Spike was pushed out of the way so that Buffy could get to her mom. There were tears in the girl's eyes, and she knelt down to hug her mother, not even paying attention to the glass. "Oh, Mom, thank god you're okay… I was so worried…"

Spike stood, watching as Buffy helped her mother up and onto the couch. The Slayer sat beside her, holding her hand as if she was afraid that breaking the contact would mean the woman would disappear. He looked around the room as they repeated caring phrases to each other and asked repeatedly if the other was okay. It quickly got annoying.

"Look, I don't want to break up this little reunion, but we need to get out of here."

They looked up at him, plainly having forgotten that he was even there. But Buffy knew he was right, and she nodded. "Mom, can you walk?"

Joyce assured her daughter that she was fine, but her attempts at standing indicated otherwise. She was having trouble putting any weight on her left ankle, though determining the exact extent of the damage would have to wait. Spike glanced around the room again, beginning to get nervous. This was taking too long. The smell of gas was still just as strong, and the room was getting warm. He, at least, was leaving now.

"Come on then," he urged. Buffy glared at him. She pulled her mother's arm over her shoulder, supporting most of the taller woman's weight. The entire situation was way too familiar for Spike -- bringing back, as it did, the events of the night before -- but he could see that they would all get out much faster if he helped. So, with a dramatic sigh, he pulled Joyce's other arm over his shoulder's, and the three moved slowly toward the door. 

Another aftershock hit just as they reached the door, and they stumbled together. Spike fell against the wall, banging his arm against the plaster. The pain was worse this time, and he realized that the entire arm was now on fire. Cursing, he pulled it close to his body in an attempt to brace it, and helped Buffy get her mother through the cracked front door.

The air outside was thick with smoke and ash, making the night darker than normal. Spike had never been to hell, but this was just about the way he'd always pictured it when they used to tell him stories as a boy. Ordinarily, this was something he would have relished, but right about now all he wanted was to curl up somewhere and nurse his wounds. He wasn't even hungry anymore.

They stood on the street for a moment, realizing then that they had no plan as to where to go. Buffy was the first to speak up. "We've got to get you to a hospital."

Joyce frowned and tried to convince her daughter again that she was fine. Buffy scowled back and pointed out the fact that she couldn't even stand on her own. Spike glared at both of them and mentioned that he doubted if they were going to get to the hospital on foot. Buffy responded by turning her angry look on him.

"Okay, Plan B," Buffy said. "We'll go to Giles' and then call an ambulance from there. It's not that far, really," she added, trying to convince her mother and herself.

"Yeah, good thing Sunnyhell's just so damn cozy," Spike muttered under his breath as they began the walk.

Giles' house was still standing, though the fountain in the courtyard had seen far better days. Buffy was calling his name on the way up the cracked path, announcing their presence before they'd even reached the door.

Giles opened his front door, a cracked vase in his hands. When he saw the trio, however, he set it down on the ground and instantly moved to help. Spike had no problems relinquishing his position as a vampire crutch, and Giles and Buffy helped Joyce inside.

The dizziness was back, and Spike sat heavily on the edge of the crumbling fountain. The base was still standing, though a chink in the side had allowed all the water to run out. He cradled his injured arm against his chest, wincing as he discovered that every part of it was now oversensitive to the touch. He realized he was sweating, something he couldn't remember doing any time recently. 

It suddenly occurred to him that he might pass out. The thought, perversely, made him laugh out loud. This was all so ridiculous… One little scratch? One little scratch caused all this? 

Hurried footsteps came toward him, and he forced himself to lift his head and see who was coming. He couldn't really focus his eyes, but he still knew who it was. This one had been around for a while.

"Well, hello, Red," he greeted her, his words coming out slurred and weak. "I'd stand, but I don't seem to be exactly tip-top right now…" 

And then he did pass out.

~~~

The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was Joyce's face. Ah, irony, Spike thought. He tried to lift himself so that he could look around and find out where he was, but the woman sitting on the edge of the bed held him down with a hand.

"Good to see you awake," Joyce told him.

Spike lay still, looking at her. She seemed sincere, which threw him. Why was this woman here? For that matter, where _was here?_

"You're safe, at Mr. Giles' house," she said, answering his unspoken question. 

The inside of his mouth felt like he'd swallowed a handful of sand. And someone had the heat on. He had a vague recollection of helping the Slayer, helping Joyce to somewhere safe. But it was all fuzzy, blurred in his thoughts. He tried to sit up again.

"You shouldn't get up. You're very sick."

Sick? He wasn't sick, didn't _get sick. But he found he didn't have the energy to sit up. And, much to his dismay, he was trembling. _

"Hospital?" he managed.

"I'm afraid we can't get you to a hospital," she told him. "Sunnydale has temporarily been declared to be in a State of Emergency. The ambulances are only getting to about half of the injured, I'm told… It's all so horrible."

She had misunderstood him, but had answered his question nonetheless, explaining why she was still there. Spike looked at the ceiling, contemplating what she'd said. State of Emergency. Funny, he usually enjoyed those more than this.

Joyce handed him a glass of water, which he gratefully accepted, using it to wash some of the grit away. His hand was shaking, and he could barely hold the glass. She reached for it, as if to help him, and he pulled away. Some of the liquid spilled on him, and he growled, throwing the glass across the room. 

"Now, Spike," came the all-too-familiar voice, "that's no way to treat someone who had to carry you up a flight of stairs."

Slayer. Spike groaned and wished that one of them would just kill him now.

Buffy brushed some water from her sleeve, a remnant of the flying drinking glass. She turned to her mother, her hands on her hips and a disapproving look on her face. "Mom, you know you're supposed to be resting. What are you doing up here? With _Spike of all people."_

"I came up to see how he was. He did help you save my life, you know."

"Yeah, well…" Buffy looked at the vampire on the bed, "He had an ulterior motive for that. I don't know what it was yet, but I know there was one."

"Buffy," Joyce scolded. "Be nice."

She shook her head. "Uh-uh. Not in the contract. Not for him, anyway."

Joyce countered with something else, but Spike was having trouble focusing on the words. His eyes closed, and he lost consciousness again.

~~~

When he awoke the next time, he was alone. His entire body ached, and he couldn't stop shaking. What was wrong with him? Joyce had said he was sick, and he was starting to think that maybe she was right. But that didn't have to mean he was helpless. And the first step to proving it was getting out of this house.

Getting up was an effort, but he eventually managed. He stood there for a moment, on unsteady legs, and tried to force the room to stop spinning. It complied, but taunted him with a vague blurring at the edges and the sensation that things could go back into a tilt-a-whirl at any moment.

Okay, standing. Step One accomplished. What was next? Spike realized that he didn't really have a plan as to where to head from this place. The continuous chant in his head of _Away, away, away really wasn't helping at all. Away where? Back to the cemetary?_

"Why not come home, Spike?"

The voice froze the repetition and cleared his mind of all noise. He turned, half expecting to face nothing but empty air. Yet there she was, standing in the shadows of the corner. There she was, looking exactly as she had the last time they'd been together. Dark beauty, the kind that threatened to blind you if you looked for too long. 

The kind that could drive a man mad.

"Dru."

It came out as a raspy whisper, but her smile reassured him that she had heard. She moved toward him, close enough to touch. "You're sick," she said gently, her large eyes filled with liquid concern. "Come with me. Miss Edith and I can make you all better."

Spike reached for her, but she turned, just out of his grasp. She glided toward the door, and he followed. She was here. His baby, his mother, his lover, his enemy. She had come back. He wasn't going to let her go again.

The house was strangely quiet as they made their way down the stairs. Where was everyone? He wanted to call to them, to show them what had happened._ She's back. She's come back for me. All of you know-it-alls with your teasing and your mocking and your scoffing, look at this. She's back. She loves me. So piss off._

He didn't shout, concentrating on getting down the rest of the flight and out of the house. Dru was moving more quickly now, and he had to struggle to keep up. He didn't want to have to tell her that he was having trouble following. He didn't want to risk that his weakness might drive her away again.

Outside, she turned to him. "We must hurry. Miss Edith is waiting for us." She smiled. "She gets very angry when she's kept waiting." Dru turned away and hurried out of the courtyard. Spike wiped the sheen of sweat from his forehead and increased his already labored pace.

~~~

Willow was trying not to let herself get frantic. Tara wasn't at Giles, as she had been hoping. She'd been at the library well into the night, trying to get some things done, when the earthquake first hit. Nearly all the books had come falling from their shelves, with a few of the huge bookcases as well. She hadn't been hit by anything, but had stayed to try and help some of the people who had. It was only after the medical crews showed up that she felt it was alright to leave and find her friends.

Tara hadn't been in her room. Not knowing where else to go, Willow headed immediately for Giles'. Tara had been there several times, and it was understood by the rest of the group to be a kind of central meeting place. She hoped that Tara would gather there as well.

Buffy, Joyce, Giles, and even Spike, but no Tara. When she saw Joyce, Willow thanked the goddess again for the fact that her parents happened to be out of town this week. Xander and Anya had yet to appear, but the mood of the group -- though concerned -- seemed to be that it was not yet time to worry, considering how difficult it was to get around town.

But Willow was worried. There was no way she could sit around and do nothing while Tara might be hurt somewhere. She slipped away from the group chatting quietly over tea and hot chocolate in the kitchen, left a note in the living room, and went to find her girlfriend.

Getting across town was difficult. Roads were cracked, some almost underwater from burst pipes. The high-pitched song of emergency sirens filled the air, and there seemed to be people _everywhere. Some were in their cars, despite the condition of the roads and the plea that everyone stay where they were and not panic.To Willow, it seemed as if one could taste the panic in the air, and that made her hurry all the more. _

_She's safe, Willow repeated in her head. __She's fine. Tara's fine. Tara's safe. As if it were some kind of mantra, a chant to make things turn out the way she wanted them to. __Needed them to._

She was running by the time she made it back to campus. Straight for Tara's room again, the chant speeding up until all the words had run together and all that was left was simply: _Safe. Safe safe safe safe safesafesafesafesafesafe..._

Willow pounded on the door, the same door that she had once knocked on so lightly, so tentatively. "Tara," she yelled. "Tara..."

And the door opened. The girls fell into each other's arms, laughing and crying and talking over each other. I was so worried. I tried to find you. I was so afraid. Thank the goddess that you're safe...

When the tears and the fear had begun to fade, they held each other, trying to reassure themselves that everything was indeed alright. What was happening -- had happened -- outside didn't matter for those few long moments, because they were together and safe.

Reluctantly, Willow broke the embrace first. "We have to get back. They'll be worried about us."

"Is everyone okay?"

"I think so... But Xander and Anya were still missing when I left. If they're going to go looking for them, they'll need our help."

Tara nodded. "Let's go help then."

They held hands as they walked, afraid to let go again.An ambulance was parked haphazardly in front of a house, paramedics working on a small body on the front lawn. "I just wish..." Tara started. Willow glanced over at her, seeing the tears in her eys. She squeezed Tara's hand more tightly. "I know," she said, softly.

They were almost back to Giles' house when Tara spoke again. "Isn't that Spike?" She asked, looking at a figure across the street.

"No, Spike's back at... Hey, that _is Spike."_

They stayed where they were, watching the blonde man stumble along. He wasn't moving very quickly or steadily, and he was hunched over as if in pain. He appeared totally oblivious to his surroundings, concentrating on his journey or his destination.

"He doesn't look well," Tara pointed out, voicing both their thoughts. "Who's he talking to?"  
  


He was talking to someone, though not loudly enough that they could make out the words. Willow felt concern rise in her, but fought it down. This was _Spike, after all. The same Spike that had tried to kill her more than once. The viscious, murderous, bad Spike. The Spike who had caused her and her friends more trouble than any of the big meanies ever did. She was not going to care. She really, really wasn't._

"Should we follow him?" Tara asked.

"Yeah, we probably should," Willow answered with a small sigh. 

Okay, so she still cared. He was harmless these days, after all. And he was hurt. What if something came after him when he was like this? Besides, it wasn't like they had to actually _help him. They could just follow him for a bit, see where he was going. Make sure he was okay..._

Right. Willow and Tara, vampire babysitters.

They followed at a distance at first, until it became quite obvious that he really was oblivious to everything around him. They began to close the space between themselves and him, but were still unable to make out what he was saying, or who he was talking to. But Willow was beginning to think she knew where it was that he was headed. 

They were going to the old haunt. Where Spike and Drusilla had lived together; where Angel had stayed after they left. Lots of torture and evil and apocalypsy sorts of things. Not exactly the happiest place on earth. Willow shivered, causing Tara to look over at her with concern. She forced a smile, trying to reassure both her girlfriend and herself. No Drusilla. No Angelus. And hopefully no big hole into hell, either. It was just Spike now. And he couldn't hurt anyone.

Still, she really had been hoping she wouldn't have to come back here. Like ever again.

Yet here they were. Spike moved awkwardly down the stairs in front of them, hanging tightly to the wrought iron railing the entire way down. Willow and Tara looked at each other, trying to decide if they should follow. Willow could see that Tara wanted to go in, to see if there was anything that they could do. 

_I just wish..._

_ _

_I know. _

Maybe they couldn't help all the people who were hurt today, but they could at least try to help one that they knew. Even if he wouldn't do the same for them.

The old place had seen better days. It had held up better than a lot of other structures in town, but still had not escaped damage. The courtyard was a mess, trees down, brickwork crumbling. They stepped carefully through the wreckage and into the building. Dust covered the floor, disturbed only by footprints. The old fireplace had fallen in on itself. The wall which held it was marred by a large crack running through the plaster.

Willow forced herself not to think of all the things that had taken place there. They were on a mission, of sorts, and she needed to focus on that. Find Spike. Then back to the safety of Giles' house and good friends.

"There," Tara whispered, pointing toward a small room that branched off from the main part of the dark floor. Willow followed the other girl, crossing the threshold into even deeper shadow. The only light in the room at all came from the moon shining in through a hole in the ceiling -- just barely enough to see the crumpled form in the corner.

The redhead knelt beside the unmoving body. She looked up at Tara, standing behind her. "Gee, suddenly I feel like I'm on E.R. or something." She lowered her voice. "'He's not breathing, Doctor.'"

It was a small attempt to lighten the mood, and Tara picked it up and continued with the effort. "Good thing he's not supposed to be, huh?"

Willow turned back to the vampire. "Uh, Spike?" Unsure of what to do, she prodded him in the arm with one finger. "Spike?" She looked up at Tara again. "No one's home."

Tara knelt beside her. "What's wrong with him?"

"Don't know. He kinda collapsed at Giles' house... But he was still there when I left. To find you."

"Maybe vampires don't deal well with earthquakes?"

As if they had called for it, another shock hit. Both girls were knocked onto their backs. A loud crack ripped through the darkness, and they screamed as they were showered from above with plaster and dust. They clung to each other, hiding their faces from the debris. And then it was over.

"Okay," Tara said shakily as they sat up, "I think that word is coming out of my vocabulary, at least for a while."

"I don't think I ever want to hear the 'E-word' again."

"No."

Willow got to her feet, helping Tara up as well. "We've got to get out of here."

Tara nodded, then glanced over at the still form. "What about him?"

Willow bit her lower lip, thinking. "Uh... Do you think we could carry him? Between the both of us?"

"I don't know." Tara looked at Spike, considering. "How heavy do you suppose he is?"

"He can't be that heavy. He never _eats, after all."_

"Tell you what," Tara said, "I'll go make sure that the way out is clear, so we don't have to trip over things on our way out. You see if you can wake him up, okay?"

Willow nodded, reaching out to grasp and squeeze the other girl's hand briefly, before turning back to the injured vampire. Behind her, she could hear Tara's footsteps as she left the room.

"Spike?" she whispered, putting her lips very close to his ear. "Spike, can you hear me? It's Willow. Remember? Grr, Argh, trying to suck out my blood and stuff?" She sighed, refraining from grabbing his shoulders and shaking him. "Come on, Spike. Wake up and, like, lunge at me or something." A beat. "No, wait, don't do that. But a snide remark or a growl would be okay..."

"We've got a problem." 

Willow turned and looked up at Tara, standing in the faint light of the doorway. She hadn't expected her back so quickly.

"It looks like we might be stuck in here."

~~~

"We've missed you so, lovie. We've all been so lonely without you."

He sucked in a breath. Despite all hope, he'd never really expected to hear her say that again. Yet here she was, lying next to him, whispering softly. For just a moment, he thought he might cry.

No, she wanted him strong. And he was. For her. He slipped an arm around her slender waist and pulled her closer. "Daddy's home now, Pet. You don't have to be lonely anymore."

Her eyes were so big, taking over her face and drawing him in. The delicate lashes surrounding them sparkled like water, and he wanted nothing so much as to feel them against his lips, his skin. The smell of her surrounded him, blurring his thoughts and fighting his scant concentration. He was going to lose himself in her, yet again.

"We traveled the world," she said, in that same soft, breathy voice. "We saw all the things that were living, and reveled with those that were not... The dead can smell like flowers. Did you know?"

"Tell me, love," he said, not ever wanting her to stop talking, even if it made no sense. This was his Drusilla, truly and completely. She had never been much for sense. And that was one of the reasons he adored her. "Where did you go?"

"The world is so tiny," she giggled. "With so many big things in it. That monument in London, in Trafalgar Square, do you remember?" He nodded. "So pretty with the spots of red. Like rose petals. Do you remember how she screamed in the end?" She studied him, almost nose-to-nose with him, as if she were waiting for some kind of response. "She wasn't there this time. I looked and looked. I think that if you had been there, she would have come back."

A woman's face flashed through his mind, immediately disappearing into the swirling fog that was spreading through the inside of his skull. They had been there once, to Trafalgar. There had been a woman...

"Why did you leave me, Spike? Was I bad?"

He blinked, his attention returning to her like the snap of a rubber band. Why did he...? What was she talking about? "Baby, I didn't..."

"I looked and looked for you, but you were gone. Miss Charlotte said it was because I had been bad. She and I had an awful row, and I had to hurt her. But then Miss Annabelle began to say the same thing, only in song. She wouldn't stop singing, even when I asked her to. She kept singing and singing until I made her stop..."

There were tears in her eyes, and her lower lip was trembling. Spike could feel himself shaking, and desperately tried to focus his thoughts. The hurt reflected in her eyes was too much for him. Wait. He hadn't hurt her. *She* had left him.

Hadn't she?

Nothing seemed to make sense anymore. She had come back, even though he had abandoned her. No, no, *she* had been the one to do the abandoning, he was sure. But then he looked into her eyes again and saw the betrayal there. He had hurt her. He had made his Princess cry. 

~~~

Willow had gone to see for herself, and it looked like Tara's assessment was correct. Something that looked an awful lot like a rafter beam had fallen, effectively blocking the doorway and trapping them inside. She had stood there, staring at it, until Tara gently led her back into the other room. 

"They'll be looking for us," she said finally, beginning to pull herself out of the shock. 

Tara nodded, knowing who she was talking about. "But will they know to look here?"

Willow looked up at the now-larger crack in the ceiling, blinking as the moon's ray coming through hit her directly in the eye. "We have to find a way to let them know..." She turned back to Tara, smiling as the idea came to her. "We could do a spell," she said, excitedly. "Something to give them a sign that we're in here. Call attention to the house some way."

Tara's face reflected the smile. "We could light up the house a bit. Cast an aura around it, something they'd be sure to see. A parlor trick, really, but it should work. It's going to take both of us, though."

"Good thing we're both here then."

After a few minutes, Tara was able to remember the exact wording to the spell she wanted, and Willow listened intently as it was relayed to her. The two witches took a moment to compose themselves, then joined hands and began the magic.

It was as if their energy was being sucked right up out of the hole in the ceiling. Willow felt the flow of their combined power rising up and outside. Between their hands, a small ball of light glowed, a blue dot reflecting the cover they were projecting (hopefully) over the outside of the old house.

Once established, Tara told her, the spell should hold for several hours, with only minimal concentration from the both of them. Which was good, because Willow was already feeling slightly drained from the effort. She couldn't imagine trying to keep this intensity up for hours.

"At any other time, I bet someone would have called the cops by now," the redhead said, once they felt they could relax a bit.

Tara smiled softly at her. She looked tired. "What do you think they would have done, once they got here?"

"Arrested us for coloring?"

Any response was cut off by a moan from the figure in the corner. Willow glanced at Tara, who nodded. "Go see. I think I can hold it by myself for a bit."

Reluctantly, Willow let go of her hand and stood, making her way to the prone vampire. She couldn't see his features in the dark, but the way he was curled up on himself made it obvious that he was suffering somehow. She wondered what, if anything, she was expecting to be able to do.

She went down on one knee beside him, able to get more of a look at this distance. The shadows played over his face, not concealing the fact that he had his eyes squeezed tightly closed, as if in pain. Then those eyes opened, and she almost fell over backward in surprise. She could hear Tara starting to get to her feet, to see what had happened, but she waved her off.

"Spike?"

"Dru?" came the whispered response, so full of emotion that she thought her heart might break.

His eyes looked unfocused. "No, Willow."

He laughed, the sound coming out as more of a choke. "No, baby, not the Slayer's girl. We can't go after her. Not yet."

A shiver ran down her spine at the mention of her own attack. But she forced herself to push it aside -- after all, Spike couldn't hurt her now with the implant still in his head. And he was obviously delusional, talking to her like she was Drusilla.

"No, Spike, _I'm Willow. Drusilla's not here."_

He blinked, and his eyes seemed to get a little clearer. It was hard to tell though, because he suddenly bolted upright and grabbed her by the collar. "Where is she? What did you do with her?"

Willow tried to release herself, but his feverish hold was too tight. She fought to get some moisture back into her mouth so she could speak. "Nothing. I... She's gone, Spike. Not here. Never was..."

The look in his eyes terrified her, chip or not. There was fire burning there, fire raging out of intense pain. Emotional or physical, she couldn't tell. And, at the moment, she didn't care.

A shadow crossed them, and Willow managed to turn her head just enough to see Tara standing over them. "Let her go," she said, very deliberately, her voice trembling only the faintest bit. 

Spike's head whipped from her to his captive and back again. Without warning, the light in his eyes died, and he released her, falling back against the stone floor, breathing heavily.

Willow scurried backward, putting a generous distance between herself and the vampire. Tara was there instantly, her arms around her girlfriend in a protective embrace. "Are you okay?" she whispered into Willow's ear.

Willow nodded, trying to get her breath back. She could see that Spike's eyes were still open, though only about half-way. He was panting like he'd just run a mile, and shaking as if he were going to tear himself apart. But it was the escaped whimper that made her slip out of Tara's arms and approach him again, carefully stretching out her hand toward him.

She could feel the other girl behind her, and that comfort gave her the courage to keep going. Her hand brushed lightly across the blond man's forehead, expecting the cool dry skin that she was familiar with. Instead he was feverish, sweating. His eyes slipped closed when she made contact again, resting her hand on his skin for a moment longer. She could swear he almost leaned into her touch.

She glanced over her shoulder at Tara, not missing the quickly covered look of faint disapproval. "He's on fire. I think there's something really wrong."

Tara nodded, pursing her lips together. "I can feel it. He's sick. Really sick."

Willow turned back to Spike. He hadn't reopened his eyes, but something told her he was still awake. Maybe not coherent, but awake. "What should we do?"

"I don't know if there's anything we can do."

He twitched under her fingers, followed by another soft moan. Then the blue eyes opened again, this time looking a little more clear. "Where's Dru?" he asked in a hoarse scratch.

Willow tensed, ready for a repeat of just moments before. But Spike showed no signs of malice, only confusion. "She's not here. I'm Willow."

"Know who y'are, Red... His eyes moved past her, straining to see in the dim light. "Dru... followed her..."

"You're sick, Spike. You didn't really see her.."

His eyes flashed, and she felt her body tense up again. "She was here. She came back..."

She shook her head, but he gave no indication of having seen. She hated to have to tell him that it had all been a hallucination. "She's not here now," she said gently.

He relaxed a bit. "But she'll be back," he said, almost to himself. "She'll be back."

Willow didn't contradict him. She watched his eyelids slip lower and lower, but then he opened them again. "Where...?" He struggled to sit up, barely able to prop himself up with his trembling elbows. "Home?" A slow smile crept across his face. "She brought me home..."

He tried to sit up further, apparently indending to make his way to his feet. Willow put a hand on his chest, that being all that was needed to restrain him in his present state. He turned to her, confusion in his expression. "She's 'ere. Playing... playing 'ide-and-seek... I'm supposed to find 'er. If I don't, she..." His words were trailing off, and Willow could barely hear the next part. "She gets scared, if I'm... not there...If I don't..."

His eyes rolled back into his head, his last look one of complete bewilderment.

Willow managed to catch his head before it came into contact with the hard floor. She lay him down gently and rose, wiping dust off ofher jeans. She moved to where Tara stood, a slight distance away in the dark room. "Poor Spike."

Tara nodded, but said nothing, her eyes on Spike's motionless form. Willow lightly took hold of her chin and gently turned the girl's face to hers. "Tara, what is it?"

There were tears welling in the girl's eyes. "I... He's in so much pain..."

Willow grabbed both of Tara's hands and held them tightly in her own. "I know. But I can't think of anything else to do for him then just sitting with him..."

"But that's the thing," Tara said, her voice almost a whisper. "I don't want you to help him... I... I'm afraid that he'll hurt you, Willow."

Unexpectedly Willow smiled, a bright flash across her face. "Aw, Spike can't hurt anybody now. You know that. What with being chippy and all..."

"He almost hurt you a minute ago," she protested. "He's feverish, stronger, and unaware of what's going on around him." Another moan came from the corner; both girls looked reflexively. 

Willow could seen the concern in Tara's eyes. She pulled the smile back on her face and looked into her girlfriend's eyes. "It'll be okay. I promise. I'll be careful, just like always. 'Cause I'm Willow, ol' Careful To The End. Yup."

The running monologue elicited a shadow of a smile from Tara, and Willow decided that that was good enough for the moment. "You keep the signal light going, and I'll go... I'll go listen to Spike rant." One look at the shift in the other's expression and she quickly added, "Non-violently. Definitely a _non-violent rant."_

The girl's heads leaned together and their lips brushed lightly. Each wanted nothing more than to curl up somewhere safe and hold the other. But that had to be saved for later. Right now they had to concentrate on holding things together until someone came and found them.

"Besides," Willow said, pulling back a mere inch, their lips so close that they could feel their breaths mingling, "I know I've got you looking out for me."

***

He could see the hem of her dress up ahead, teasing him amidst the greenery. The bit of red cloth was all he could still see of her, running through the shadows of the dense foliage. The moon could barely even make it in, twisting its light through slivery cracks between the tree cover. But he could hear her -- hear her laughter echoing off the branches and leaves and roots and soil. That and the glimpse of red in front of him were enough to keep on her trail.

The ground began to shake then, and something relatively soft landed on top of him, knocking him to the ground. He struggled against it, but all the previous strength he had felt during the chase had abruptly left him. He couldn't manage to throw the thing off.

Something in the jungle around him shifted, and he was standing again. He looked around, but could only see the colors of the forest around him. All the colors except for red. There was no red in sight. A tighteness began in his chest, pressing ever tighter as he realized there was no longer any singing. In fact, nothing made any noise at all, not even the many birds he could see hiding in the trees. Silence.

And then, crying. At first it seemed to be coming from all around him, and -- much to his horror -- he recognized it. It was his Princess weeping, somewhere in all this darkness. He struggled to focus, to narrow the sound down to one specific direction. When he finally was able to concentrate long enough to do that, he took a step in the direction only to find himself suddenly restrained. Two big, brilliantly red snakes had coiled themselves around his arms, their tails gripping the tree branches with impossible strength, effectively holding him in place. 

He fought against them, but that seemed to only make their hold on him tighter. The crying increased, but remained at the same low, eerie level of volume. He called her name, howled it against the jungle's barriers, only to hear it come back to him without response. His face shifted, revealing his true form. His neck snapped around to sink his fangs into one of the snakes, but the reptile was quicker. Spike screamed as the small, poisonous fangs broke his skin, bringing with them a horrible burning pain that instantly ran the length of his arm and began to move across his chest. 

The snakes slipped away then, slithering off into the shadows. He stumbled forward, just barely managing to stay on his feet. But the weeping continued, endlessly, and he forced himself to stagger in that direction. 

There she was. His beautiful dark Princess, kneeling on the earth floor, her face buried in her hands. He reached out to her with his uninjured arm, resting a hand on her head. He had to bite back a gasp at how much that simple little movement hurt. But she looked up at him then, a sudden smile illuminating her tear-streaked face, and he forced the pain out of his mind.

"You've come back!" she cried, leaping gracefully to her feet and throwing her arms around him. He was too unsteady to protest when she began to dance around, pulling him in circles behind her. The colors around him blurred, and he tried to focus on not throwing up. He stumbled, falling to a heap and pulling her down half on top of him. She giggled madly. 

He just managed to roll away from her before he did throw up.

***

"Uh-oh," Willow murmured, scrambling away from Spike just as he rolled over and emptied his stomach of what little he had consumed recently. Willow was no expert in vampire vomit, but with the few side glances she gave the mess, it didn't look like he'd fed anytime in a while. There just wasn't as much there as one would... expect.

Yeah, like a whole lot of people sat around thinking about vampire barf.

"Gross," she decided, trying to close her nose off to the smell of stale, regurgitated blood. 

Spike was beginning to move again, and Willow stepped around the gooey puddle to hold onto him in hopes of keeping him out of the liquid. Tara came over and helped her drag him a short distance, before they had to set him down. Eating or not, dead weight was never very easy to carry. Still this would keep her senses happier and keep Spike from making any more of a mess.

He moved slightly when she sat down beside him again. In what little light they had, his cheeks looked hollow and stretched. His teeth were chattering, and he had curled back into a protective ball as soon as they had sent him down. Tara's eyes went from Willow to Spike, then back again. An unspoken communication passed between them, and Tara gave her a faint smile as she moved back to the center of theroom to return to the spell.

Willow looked down at the helpless creature before her, having trouble seeing the Big Bad Enemy in this sick blonde body. Her hand brushed his forehead again, and he mumbled something she didn't catch. Her fingers began running lightly through his hair, almost of their own accord. But it seemed to relax him, if only a little. 

He was shivering violently, and Willow moved a bit closer to him, Tara's fears whispering in the back of her mind. He wasn't wearing his usual duster, and she didn't have anything to give him to make him warmer. Though, as sick as he seemed to be, she wasn't sure it would matter anyway. 

Eyes still closed, he snuggled up against her with a faint whimper. She managed to pull his head gently into her lap, fighting against both her instincts for preservation and the fear that he was going to do a repeat performance of the grossness all over her pants. She looked up and, though she could barely make out the other girl in the darkness, knew Tara was looking at her. She offered a reassuring smile in that direction.Spike wasn't going to hurt anyone.

She really, really hoped.

***

Hours passed, though it was hard to tell exactly once the moon moved away from directly over the hole in the ceiling. The two girls had spent the time talking quietly across the dark space, until Tara became tired enough that she had to begin focusing all of her concentration on maintaining the spell. Willow was doing her best to help, but Spike's restless movements and occasional murmuring were distracting. Soon she was going to have to leave him and devote all her energy to the effort as well.

Another deep shudder ran through the body in her arms. She was getting used to them by now, and she didn't break the rhythm of her stroking. She felt so useless sitting there, unable to do anything to help him -- or them, for that matter. The group had to be out looking for them by now, she was certain. She just hoped that this was one of the first places they thought to look.

His paper-thin voice startled her. "Red?" A whisper floating out of the darkness.

"Um... Yeah?" She couldn't see him at all now.

"Can't see very well," he mumbled, not sounding at all alert. He wasn't talking to the invisible Drusilla-- which was something -- but his tone was still that of a sleepy child who didn't quite know what was going on. 

It worried her that he couldn't see in the dark, as he should have been able to. "How'd you know it was me?" she asked, hoping to keep him talking. 

"...smelled like you..."

He buried his face against the crook of her arm, and she tried not to squirm away in her fear of being tasted next. Willow wondered what she smelled like to a vampire. Then she decided she was probably just fine with not finding out.

Another round of tremors ran through him. "It 'urts," he whimpered, sounding like he might cry. "Everythin' 'urts..."

No cocky swagger, no arrogant posturing, no confident smirk. How was she supposed to respond to this un-Spikey Spike? Without the visual information, Willow found that it was all too easy to forget all the things that had happened and think of him right then as nothing more than an ailing child.

Okay, an ancient, evil, bloodthirsty demon child.

Wait until the others wanted to hear about this one. She had a feeling that she might be leaving a lot of details out.

"Help's coming," she told him, in her best Reassuring voice. "Giles will find something to make you feel better. And then you can get back to being your old annoying -- uh, I mean... You know what I mean. Back to being healthy. Healthy, normal Spike."

He was silent, and she thought he had slipped out of things again. Only the sound of her own breathing filled her ears for a few moments. When he spoke again, she had to hold her breath in order to actually hear him. "Where... 'eres Dru?"

She had been pretty much avoiding this so far, but she didn't know how much longer she could keep it up. "She's not here, Spike," she tried, hoping that would be enough to pacify him again.

"No... not 'ere. Wit' the red snakes..."

"Snakes?"

She could feel the tension in him suddenly, as if he were terrified. "Don' le' 'em eat me, Red... Don't le' 'em bite me again..."

Willow held on to him tightly, knowing that if he decided to break away from her, he would probably end up hurting both of them in the struggle. "It's okay," she told him, her voice as quiet and soothing as she could possibly make it. "There aren't any snakes, Spike. It's okay..."

She continued the refrain, and slowly he began to relax. She kept up the reassurances until he finally sagged against her, all tension deflated. "...says I 'urt 'er..."

"Who says?" she asked, though she had a good feeling she knew what the answer would be. She was becoming better at keeping up with his nonsequitors. 

"Dru... says I left. Not 'er, me... Di' I leave 'er? 'ow could I...?

He sounded as if he had forgotten that she was even there, and was back in conversation with himself. She wondered where he had gotten this new idea, since she knew that it was Drusilla who had given Spike the boot. There was no way Spike would have ever left Drusilla, she thought, considering how distraught the blond vampire had been upon his solo return to Sunnydale.

"I 'urt 'er... made 'er cry..." he murmured, sounding as if his voice might disappear at any moment. He was no longer shaking, Willow realized. It occured to her that this might not actually be a good sign. 

"Spike? Hey there... Whoohoo...Keep talking to me..."

No answer.

"Willow?"

It took her a second to register that the voice was not Tara's. Or Spike's. "Giles?" she yelled, already sliding out from under the vampire's limp form. "Giles, we're trapped in here!"

The Englishman's voice was as level and comforting as usual. "We're clearing away the rubble now. Is Tara in there with you?"

She felt Tara's hand slip into hers as the girl came up behind her. "I'm here. Spike's here too."

There was a groan from the top of the blocked stairs, and Xander's voice floated down. "All this destruction, and not one single house fell on him? No tree, nothing?"

She wanted to tell Xander that he might be closer than he knew to getting his wish. "He's hurt. Or sick or something. Definitely a not-good something."

There was some indecipherable discussion on the other side of the barricade, and then Giles was back. "I, ah, suspected as much. I'm fairly certain that we've managed to pin down the demon that did this, and the antedote should be relatively easy to concoct once we get back to my flat..."

Before she could comment on the large amount of uncertainty in his voice, light streamed into their dark prison as the doors were opened from the outside. She could see that the door had been partially blocked on that side as well, but it hadn't taken too long for the debris to be moved out of the way. Riley and Buffy moved the rafter beam with some effort, effectively freeing them.

"Willow, are you okay?" Buffy asked, hugging her. 

"Yeah, I'm fine." A sideways glance to Tara, and the ammended: "We're both fine." 

Buffy smiled, and squeezed Tara's arm. Then she moved so that the rest of the group could get their relieved hugs in as well. "So, nice job with the glowy house thing, Will," Xander said, as he took his turn. "Very SpookyTrek." 

Anya looked unsure as to what to do. Finally she just waved at them from where she stood, four feet away. "Uh, yeah... Glad to see you're not dead," she threw in for good measure.

"The spell was Tara's idea," Willow said, moving to where Spike lay. With the extra light from the open door, she was able to see somewhat again. Giles followed her, kneeling for a moment beside the prone figure. She looked at him. "Can we do something?"

"I don't understand why we keep saving him all the time," Anya said behind them.

Giles ignored her. "Assuming that the demon we, ah, ran into while we were looking for you," here he unconsciously brushed his fingers across a bruise which was beginning to darken at his hairline, one that Willow hadn't noticed earlier, "is in fact the one Spike encountered last night --"

Willow looked over the rest of them, but no one else seemed to be injured. "There was a fight? Is everybody okay?"

"Everybody's okay," Buffy assured her. "Very minor scuffle; mostly just a few misplaced paws flying around. He kinda ran into us while trying to get out of the city."

"Yes, well it seems that we should still be able to help him without too much trouble. However, if we'd been too much later..."

"Oh, for an extra few minutes of Demon Wrestling," Xander muttered.

"Come on," Buffy said, not sounding very happy about the next task. She sighed, looking down at Spike. "As if it wasn't difficult enough to get through the streets on the way over here. What a pain... This vamp's gonna owe me big time." Buffy and Riley again did the honors, picking up Spike between them and carrying him up the steps into the night.

The group followed, Willow and Tara bringing up the end. "Think he's going to be okay?" Tara asked.

"Hope so," Willow answered. "But don't you dare tell anyone I said that. Especially Spike."


End file.
